Of Green and Grey The Mission of Growth
by ArkkanontheGrey
Summary: A tale of a floran and his allies, seeking to save the lives of thousands from a horrid fate. A step across the stars, a journey of discovery, of observation and dark revelation. A struggle of purpose and truth that will test the very limits of the protaganist's will and strength.


The view was amazing.

The sound of leaves brushing together had quickly disturbed the silence of the transport vessel's cabin as the seated Floran cast a glance out of the side window. Aurcturas IV spun slowly in the black expanse of space, the innumerable stars beyond shining with promise as the blue-and-dun toned world twirled in a cloud of frozen water and dust trapped within its atmosphere...though the beauty found itself interrupted momentarily by the bright, flashing neon of a HeadCo advert, forcing the creature to close his gunmetal-grey eyes and turn back to his business. He gave an idle tap of the black and red device upon his wrist, a blue light upon the small screen blinking to life and sending a translucent screen to spring into being before him, a sloped plane in a faint shade of red just beneath it.

His thin, light-green fingers danced over the flat keys that shimmered to life upon the surface, each lighting up and becoming tangible at his touch. He leaned back into the soft cushioned seat, taking a small measure of thanks that he was the only one chartered to board the vessel he was rocketing towards; saved from getting stared at for a few minutes. Currently his grey orbs were locked upon the screen as he awaited an answer.

**Pale_Lady:** _Any luck this go-round?_

**Grey_Butler:**_ Not this time. The planet's surface may be lush in some areas, but overall there was a lack of distinct, individual species for me to take account of; everything there was already domesticated and brought in from other worlds, particularly from human colonies._

**Pale_Lady:** _Meaning that they lack the proper fat content that you would require._

**Grey_Butler:** _Precisely. The protein is plentiful, but the meat is far too lean. Any word on your end?_

**Bright_King:** _Yes. There has been word of an Arctic-Class world listed in the Colchis Sector that uses a particular type of beast of burden used mainly for transport and to survive the harsh conditions. I sent along the coordinates a few hours prior to this conversation; they should be registered in your Star Log by now, I'd imagine. We'll meet you there._

**Grey_Butler:** _...Will Doctor Prion be joining us?_

**:I_**

The answer never came, though his arrival did as he spotted at least part of the large, angular human vessel that dominated his view just out of the port side window. He tapped the device again, the screen fading away as he buckled his seat belt, crossing his legs and gripping his armrests as he waited for it.

Nothing yet. He took one last look out the window to spot the name of the ship stenciled in a bold white New Gothic font. 'Saint Augu-'

The impact hit him like the fist of a cyborg, causing him to double over for a brief moment, his fingers curled into what would be a white-knuckle grip on the leather upholstery. Bloody hell, the acceleration servos on these transport vessels never seemed to work well, at least the public ones never did; always never switching off the thrusters until the _very_ last possible moment. He suspected after all these transfers that the fellows working in Transit Operations below did it for what little kicks they could find. Allowing himself a moment to recover, the Floran rested his head upon the headrest, moving to unbuckle himself as he heard the familiar, annoying and unnecessary 'bing-bong' that the Imperial ships always used.

"You have now docked with the Saint Augusta! Please gather your possessions; while the Dimmu-Borgi Empire enjoys your continued support, we do not enjoy taking responsibility for your own ineptitude. Thank you, and wait patiently for the airlock."

By then he had already unsnapped the buckle, standing to his full height to brush idly at his pressed, bleach-white medical coat that swept down to his ankles, the sound of rubbing leaves muffled by the black leggings he wore just underneath. Even with all of this, his 'chest' remained bare underneath, buttoning the coat up as he reached down to pick up his brown, patched briefcase, choosing to stand at the first row of seats as he listened for the light 'hiss' and sudden rush of cold air and smell of oxygen so clean one could swear something was scrubbing it in the air filters. He reached into his coat pocket, sliding on a pair of thin, shaded reading glasses as the florescent lights began to break the shade of the comparatively small cabin, the large hunter-green leaves upon his hair billowing as the air rush continued, the pressurized transport vessel flushing out the carbon dioxide from the floor vents far to the back.

He stepped forward and into a long hallway that spanned the side of the ship, a sign in front of him sporting rather simple directions.

-Bridge/Docking Port #4  
Docking Port #3/Living Quarters-

"Another freak thinkin' he's above his nature...Geez, the shit you find in the stars, huh?"

The floran slowly turned his head to the source of the offending voice, looking down at two humans dressed in military fatigues, the dark tone of the speaker's skin suggesting a home world very close to the sun, the other rather pale in his complexion. Realizing that he was standing in the very center of the hallway, the floran took two steps back, the humans passing by without another glance. The creature simply pressed a finger to the bridge of his glasses, the tiny suckers upon the nose-guard keeping them in place as he adjusted them.

"Apologies for that; you'll only have to deal with them while you're on duty, I promise."

A gloved hand was thrust in his direction, the floran rather surprised that he had to look_ up_ at this particular human, along with the fact that he was smiling. The wrinkles at his eyes and in his cheeks spoke of his age, but his sheer size gave a hint at the strength he wielded. The floran grasped his hand, shaking it lightly. "I'll pay them no mind, sir. I take it you're in command here, or at least a ranking officer?"

The tall man gave a sharp salute, wiggling the clipped, grey mustache at his lips. "Lieutenant Signan Graves. By the rather pointed time of your arrival, you must be the medical officer from down below."

The floran closed his eyes, having forgotten to pin his identification to his coat prior. "Arkkanemnon Dol-Khripunova, Bioanalyst and Certified Medic."

An eyebrow was raised, the elder man crossing his arms and tapping his foot. "...The hell do you spell that, anyway?" A green hand fluttered inside one of the lower coat pockets before rising, lifting the identification badge within the lieutenant's sight. He smirked. "Right...still, not a name I've heard any leaf-head go by before."

"That's because it isn't a Floran name. The word 'Dol' in the language of my kind means 'faux', or fake. It was a name I was given, sir. If we may cut the formalities, I'd like to see my quarters."

The soldier nodded, looking to his left. "We prefer to keep the medical bay nearby the living quarters. Your office will be on the second floor, office twenty-two B. For the sake of my tongue, I'm just gonna pass 'round word that your name is 'Arkkanon'. Save the soldiers some grief, y'know."

Arkkanon followed his gaze, rolling his eyes at the name. He couldn't quite complain; he had been called worse things in his life. With a simple nod, he began the walk, the shimmering of the stars outside providing pillars of light within the corridor, the sharp clack of his leather shoes echoing as the floran made his way to the elevator, stepping inside to press the button for the second floor. As the silver doors closed, the teeth-grating 'Bing-bong' sounded once again.

"Sergeant Manul, please report to the customer service desk. Your wife left you a-"

The mike was hit, a loud ringing sounding as the dull thumps of fists impacting clothed skin rung outward and another voice cut in, this one lighter and a bit more stressed in tone.

"Honey, you left your lunch in the room again! Time after time I've told you not to leave it behind, but you keep going off to work without it! I_ know_ you're listening! You need to watch your calorie intake, mister!"

Arkkanon narrowed his eyes as he pressed the button once more. He could already tell this was going to be a very long trip.

The room was fairly standard for a medical bay; an operating table with simple sheets and a pillow, along with an overhead light that moved as the floran adjusted it. As he checked the counter on the right wall, he was pleased that at least his supplies were pre-stocked on board the freighter-class ship; scalpels, calipers, surgical wire, all polished and neatly set in organized trays. He closed the drawer and moved past the small, rotating stool in the center of the room to examine the door in the left corner of the room, noting the cozy room that contained a desk and chair, a bed and a wide view port outside. Tossing his case upon the bed, the floran immediately moved to seat himself at the mahogany desk, detaching the device on his wrist and placing it flat upon the surface.

The screen appeared once more. Arkkanon pressed a finger to it and cycled through a few options, stopping at the image of what looked to be a swirling, bright tempest and pressing it. The translucent screen faded and flickered away, only to be instantly replaced with an enormous three-dimensional image behind him, an entire display of the star system condensed to fit within the room, floating over his bed. He crossed his arms and legs, removing his glasses as he narrowed his eyes and spoke. "Secobar System. Minimize."

At his command, the spinning image of the system shrinking down to a winking star among millions, the floran's eyes flitting and searching through the twinkling mosaic that remained suspended in the dark room. He withdrew a laser pointer from his breast pocket, the small red dot rolling through the Star Log, highlighting and popping up names as it passed through them. Il'pur, Keskobir, Lylat...he stopped as he spotted one star to his left, red rings encircling it to gain his attentions. He placed the pointer upon it. "Colchis System. Expand."

As the image grew in size, Arkkanon popped open the case on the bed, revealing bags and bags of what looked to be freeze-dried and preserved strips of bacon, a greedy green hand darting inside to pull out a handful...as well as revealing the long, matte-black barrel of a .773 Helvolver, courtesy of a friendly Hylotl merchant back on Aurcturas' surface. The Colchis System sported what looked to be only three planets orbiting around a bright-blue dwarf star, a scattering of asteroids claiming the rest of airspace around the tiny sun. Arkkanon took a heavy bite of bacon, choosing to chomp through the handful rather than individual pieces as his eyes flitted over an ice-blue ball near the outer rim. "Mmm. Dust and echoes, mostly. I'm surprised Elias could find anything out there, much less anyone else."

"Surprised who could find what now?"

A cloud of bacon bits had erupted into the air, causing the image to fizzle and shake due to the airborne interference. Arkkanon whirled about in his chair, hammering a hand down upon the device as he looked up at the intruder.

What he couldn't help noticing first was that her hair was pink. Extremely, extremely pink, almost on the verge of being described as 'infra-pink'. So pink that it hurt his eyes. It must've damaged her vision after years of looking in mirrors, considering that her hazel eyes were obscured by her thick, circular glasses that hung over her button nose, her thin lips pulled into a small smile. The human (though this was questionable to Arkkanon, given the frightening color of her hair) was rather tall, the bun of her ridiculous hair brushing the top of his bedroom doorway as she peeked inside with a curious stare. "...Sorry. I saw a bright light from the window of this office...by the way you're dressed, I'm guessing you're the newest addition to our team."

And she must be the newest model for 'Madame Krilla and her '_Killa-Still'_ Hair Gel'.

The floran stood, brushing the wasted foodstuffs from his coat with a twinge of sadness. "I am. Forgive me; I haven't gotten entirely settled. I'll have my nameplate in place outside in a few minutes, ma'am."

The woman giggled to herself, fully stepping into the room with her clipboard in hand. She looked over it for a moment, a hand pulling a pen from betwixt her plentiful cleavage to circle something. "Arkka...Arkkanemnon Dol-Khripunova? You're possibly the first Floran medic I've ever seen. Hopefully not the last."

He simply nodded, placing the device back upon his wrist as he brought his own glasses back to his eyes. Not only must her eyes hurt, but her back as well with those child-feeders...and her hips looked as if they could squash a Balticuran Mega-Wolf. The poor thing must have an awful time of moving about.

Still, he figured that she deserved at least a seat. He moved past her, seating himself upon a bench in front of the window, crossing his legs and arms. After a moment of silence, he gestured for her to sit down. "You might as well. I take it you're not just here to give me a miniature heart attack."

She brought a hand to her chin. He smelled entirely like a mint leaf. A walking, talking mint leaf. Did they all smell like that? The doctor took her seat, placing her hands and clipboard upon her lap. "Well, yes. I came by to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Halia Utherma, serving as the Assistant Director of Medicine here in the Medical Bay. I tend to make it my business to get to know those who work under me."

Given the way she worded that, Arkkanon briefly wondered if that was some sort of sexual euphemism. Rather than satisfying that thread of curiosity, the floran straightened himself, nodding. "I see. Is there any way I can be of assistance, Doctor? Is there an injured patient in need of care?"

"Well...no. I am here to understand you just a bit more...for one, every single Floran I have ever come across has been something of a savage, or at least primal in their behavior. Yet you're rather docile. You speak in clear New Gothic, and even walk upright. Almost like-"

"A human?"

The question contained neither malice nor pointed aggravation, yet this caused the woman to lapse into silence, her lips pursed tightly. The floran shook his head, the heavy leaves ruffling. "Don't worry. I don't take offense; you're not the first to question me or my intentions, Doctor. I suppose I act this way because I was raised this way." He cast a look outside the port window, the azure and cinnamon of Aurcturas reduced to nothing but a multi-colored sphere the size of his palm, the ship already in motion.

"I broke forth from the earth of the planet Pelchon V, colonized many years prior by a singular, massive clan of florans. Later on, they splintered into several scattered tribes a few years after landing. Divides of culture and mindsets had set into place, and they had made themselves a proper home. We had grown like weeds-pardon the pun-due to a lush environment laden with plentiful prey for us to feast upon. And feast we did, and continue to do until now. An entire planet of creatures is on the verge of literally eating itself out of house and home."

Arkkanon reached down, plucking the shoes off of his feet to wiggle his toes, the black nails at their tips clipped and shining. "When I was just a sproutling, I was found by a passing geologist who had come down to survey fault lines that had sprung up unexpectedly over the last year and taken in by her; Doctor Prioni Khripunova had taken me aboard her ship so that she, her husband and friend could watch me grow. They formed a hypothesis. If all mammalian children learned by mimicry and example of their surroundings, would it be possible for a primitive creature as my kind to do so? To learn to create and heal rather than destroy and ravage? And so, I grew and watched. I listened and I learned."

He pushed himself off the high bench, reaching out to take a strip of bacon from one of the bags before closing the briefcase. "With her recommendation, I was submitted to the Kilroth Center of Biology for advanced training, and had obtained my degree in Bioanalysis and Terraforming by the time I was twenty-three years of age. After that, I had entered for another degree in medicine from another college in the Veknamas System."

Halia tilted her head, her fingers folding together as her brow knitted together. "...All for what? What do you plan to do with what you've been given?"

For a long time, Arkkanon did not answer. He simply stared out into the expanse of space before his mouth opened. "...I went back one day. I re-entered that atmosphere, I walked upon the same grass with the same feet as them. I touched the same trees, the same brush with the same hands as they. But I was denied, Doctor. I have no home there now and never will because I was deemed an outsider that stank of the other races...and yet my people are dying. Game becomes less and less common every year, and soon the very planet will show for it."

He turned to face her, a grim expression on his face as he spoke. "I will comb this wild expanse of stars. I will do what they cannot; I will engineer a new creature from the blood of others, bring to life a sustainable, perfect beast that provides the proper nutrients they need. That can withstand the elements of that planet and can reproduce just as fast as my people consume them. I don't care how many ships I have to serve on and where they go...I'll do my damned best to see it through."

She closed her eyes and stood, nodding as she made her way to the door. "...You know they will never thank you for it. You'll still be an outsider."

The floran closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "They don't have to. Even if I do fail, even if I do die somewhere out there I will have passed on as an example. An example that good can come from anywhere. Besides..." He cracked a smile, the doctor able to see herself in the dagger-sharp grin. "What good is a grand sequoia if it denies its roots?"

The doctor smiled at that, her heels clacking as she began to leave. "I see. I look forward to working with you, Doctor Khripunova...and I'm sure you'll find a home somewhere out there. But until then, you're welcome here aboard the Saint Augusta. Take care...Arkkanon."

He cast a look at the device upon the desk, taking another crunch of bacon as the outer door to his office closed.


End file.
